


beyond ascension

by eternalAbyss (bittersweetResilience)



Category: Kung Fu Panda (Movies), Kung Fu Panda: Legends of Awesomeness
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Redemption, Whump, but also..., it's trauma babey, well... a bittersweet ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:21:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25611229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittersweetResilience/pseuds/eternalAbyss
Summary: Po meets some familiar faces in prison. Redemption is a rocky road.
Relationships: Po & Bian Zao (Kung Fu Panda), Po & Hundun (Kung Fu Panda), Po & Shifu (Kung Fu Panda), Po & Taotie (Kung Fu Panda), Po & Tong Fo (Kung Fu Panda)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this started as a drabble about po hating the food in prison. then an image popped into my head of po talking to tong fo on a blimp, and it all went downhill from there.
> 
> it’s not your job to save or even to forgive the people who hurt you, but po has a bleeding, traumatized heart.
> 
> in other news, my desire to project onto anthropomorphic animals from kids shows never ends.

“It’s only for three days,” Constable Hu says, a bit apologetically. “The higher-ups will forget soon enough.”

“Three days and no more,” Shifu says, voice hard. “He did nothing wrong.”

“Yes, of course, I understand.” The elephant flicks his trunk. Po doesn’t protest as he’s guided into the cell, though he casts a half-apologetic, half-nervous look at Shifu.

“Po,” Shifu says, and Po turns to him, alert at the sound of, for once, his name. “I will be back to check in on you tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry, Master Shifu,” Po says earnestly, “I’ll be fine.”

Shifu makes a noncommittal noise in response. The rhino guard makes to leave the cell, and Shifu narrows his eyes. “Are you not going to uncuff him?”

“Well, he’s in here for using kung fu, isn’t he?” the rhino grunts. “So he shouldn’t be allowed to while he’s here.”

“You know, it offends me that you think I can’t do kung fu with these on.” Po jangles his handcuffs, smiling cheekily.

The rhino shoves him back with far more force than necessary, and Shifu bristles when Po stumbles. “You will treat the dragon warrior with respect,” he hisses, and the rhino backs off, folding under his sharp tone. “Am I understood?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Shifu doesn’t notice the mutinous expression that forms on the rhino’s face, the dark look he casts at Po. He strides out of the room, ears twitching at the sound of the cell door swinging shut with a heavy clank, the lock clicking. Constable Hu hurries to catch up to him. Shifu doesn’t wait for him. The fading evening light illuminates his fur as he leaves.

No sooner than Master Shifu and Constable Hu have vanished around the corner, Po hears shuffling behind him. He swallows and looks to the rhino standing guard outside for help, but he only scoffs and pointedly wanders to the other side of the room.

Right, then. He’s on his own for this one.

Po turns around. The cell he’s in is spacious—looks like he’ll have a lot of roommates. Most of them familiar faces.

Oh boy.

“The golden boy of the Jade Palace, in here with us crooks,” Tong Fo purrs. His eyes are large and luminous in the torchlight. “Isn’t this a treat.”

“What could _you_ possibly be in for?” Taotie scowls. “Has someone finally realized it’s a crime to destroy my beautiful machines?”

“Because they’re lame,” Bian Zao says under his breath.

“Not yet, buddy,” Po says. He keeps one foot behind him, the most subtle stance he can think of. “I’m only here to keep up appearances. I’ll be out of your hair in a few days.”

“Aw, we’re gonna be roommates?” Fung whines. Po can’t tell if he’s excited or disappointed.

“Sure looks like it,” he says cautiously.

Tong Fo pounces at him. Po doesn’t have time to think; he whirls and kicks with one leg, sending the smaller creature to the ground. “Ow!” Tong Fo grunts, already rising. Po drops into a ready stance, already coming up for plans of attack if the others join in, but nobody else moves a muscle, and Tong Fo continues. “Such violence, dragon warrior. I was only trying to get a closer look at your handcuffs.”

“Why?” Po demands. His heart is beating fast, but it’s settling slowly.

“So I can unlock them. What do you think?”

Tong Fo’s voice is derisive, but it doesn’t sound like a lie. The wariness in Po’s body turns to confusion. “What? I thought…”

“There’s no honor in killing a disadvantaged enemy,” Tong Fo says, smiling unnervingly. Yup. That definitely sounds more like him.

“I would take what I can get,” Hundun grumbles from the corner of the room. “Because whatever I get, I will take, and then I will have taken what I can get.”

“I’m hungry,” Fung announces to apparently no one.

“But you’re always hungry,” Gahri says.

The two begin to bicker, and the tension in the room fades slightly. Po sits down, back against the wall. He doesn’t know how he’s going to last three days in here.

Dinner comes in the form of a tray carrying some misshapen lumps of what can only very generously be described as food. The rhino guard from earlier sets it down on the floor in the center of the room, other hoof on the baton hanging from his belt, watching them carefully for movement. When he straightens, he barks, “No fighting after curfew. And there’d better not be anything missing from this tray except the food when I come back, got it?”

Dead silence. The guard’s eyes narrow. “I said, got it?”

“Lame,” Bian Zao mutters, clearly not intending for anyone to hear except himself. But the guard’s eyes snap to him.

“What did you say?”

“Uh, n-nothing,” the kid stutters.

“You think I’m ‘lame’? Is that it?” the rhino growls. His grip on his baton tightens and he moves forward.

Po springs up, stepping between them. “No, no, of course he doesn’t think that. Right, BZ?”

He looks at Bian Zao, praying that the teenager has enough sense to go along with it. Thankfully, he nods, stammering, “Yeah, o-of course.”

The rhino grunts, seeming to settle. Then, without warning, he swings the baton. Po’s head snaps to the side and he tastes blood, but he stays standing.

“That’s for the attitude,” the rhino says threateningly. Po forces himself not to catch him by the wrist and yank as he strikes again, with his fist this time, catching Po in the gut. He doubles over, wheezing as the rhino smirks. “And that’s just because I feel like it. I’m in charge around here, understood?”

Po grits his teeth. Anger is burning in him like a lit match, but he grates out, “Understood.”

The rhino leaves. Po wipes the back of his paw over his mouth, feeling the wetness of blood, before he turns, looks seriously at Bian Zao, whose eyes are wide. “You okay, BZ?”

“Um… y-yeah.” The kid looks shaken, but it’s to be expected.

“Good.”

Po wants to mash his paws against his face, but the cuffs around his wrists are heavy and that rhino really packed a punch. These guards are _cruel_. Po makes a note to himself. He should tell Shifu, pull some strings to get new ones hired. He doesn’t send people to jail for them to be mistreated. It’s only so they can’t hurt others anymore, not so they’ll be hurt themselves.

“Thanks, Po,” Taotie says. There’s a strange note in his voice, like he actually means it. He’s got a hoof on Bian Zao’s shoulder when Po refocuses and looks at him.

“Uh, sure,” Po says awkwardly. “Once I see Master Shifu tomorrow, you won’t be stuck with that guard for long. He didn’t seem very… happy to be here.”

“He seems plenty happy when he’s bossing us around,” Tong Fo says darkly. “When I make my escape, he will be the first one I kill.”

“Yikes,” Po says. “Maybe you want to… not say that in front of me.”

“Please.” Tong Fo rolls his eyes. “You won’t be around to see it.”

“Yeah, but I _will_ be around to stop you. Like I do every time. Remember?” Po can’t help but shoot back.

Tong Fo is way too close, all of a sudden. Po steps back, but the primate follows, lips curved in a snarl. “Perhaps you shouldn’t remind me of all those times when we’re locked in the same room together,” he says dangerously. “Especially when you’re in handcuffs and outnumbered, and I am neither.”

Po swallows the retort that automatically comes to his tongue. He says nothing, only glares at Tong Fo, who turns and snags a lump of food off the tray before leaping into his side of the cell and ignoring the rest of them.

Well. There goes his plans of getting some rest for the night. Or food. Who knows how many people are really planning to off him before he can get out of here.

Bian Zao peeks at him from behind his dad, so Po makes himself offer a small, reassuring smile despite the nauseating dread climbing up his throat.

Po doesn’t trust himself not to fall asleep, so he stays standing, pacing as silently as he can and babbling inside his head. He misses home, he realizes with a sad little pang. He had never really needed to appreciate the safety of sleeping next to the five greatest warriors in the land, knowing that they all had each other’s backs.

Now, in the exact opposite situation, he’s never appreciated anything more. Except maybe food. Oh, what he would give for a bowl of his dad’s secret ingredient soup right now.

Tong Fo’s eyes glitter at him from across the room. Fung, Gahri, and the rest of the bandits are sleeping in a pile on the floor, and for as much as they argue during the day, Bian Zao and Taotie seem peaceful where they sleep next to each other on their cots. Hundun is snoring. But Tong Fo seems as distrustful of Po as Po is of him, and he remains wide awake.

Sometime after midnight, Po senses something coming at him and narrowly manages to avoid a makeshift dagger that shears off the ends of some of his fur before clattering against the wall behind him. Tong Fo picks it up and tucks it in the waistband of his pants. When Po accuses him of trying to kill him, he chuckles and says, “Just testing.”

Morning can’t come soon enough.

Almost as soon as the rhino guard—who still hasn’t swapped positions with someone else, darn it—unlocks the cell door, Fung is yawning and saying, “Are we gonna get breakfast soon? Dinner kinda sucked.”

“Fung!” Gahri hisses, shoving the other crocodile, but it’s too late. The guard is already bristling.

“What, it wasn’t enough for you? You want a five-course meal?”

“Uh, no! Well, if you say it like that, then kind of—”

“I could definitely go for some better food,” Po says loudly. The rhino turns to him, eyes narrowed, and Po watches Fung slump a little in relief out of the corner of his eye as he continues. “I mean, I hope you weren’t in charge of cooking, because I could make something better than that with these on.” He shakes his cuffed paws.

The rhino guard—Po really should learn his name at some point—takes the bait, easy as anything. Po manages to brace himself this time before the first blow comes. It’s forceful enough that Po staggers, resisting the reflexive urge to sweep the guard’s feet out from under him, to jab at his foolishly unguarded torso, to do _anything_ , but instead he goes down with the next punch. The guard digs a knee into his sternum, and Po chokes on his next breath. “Has—anyone ever told you—that you have anger issues?” he quips, voice strained.

He regrets it when the guard pulls back and decks him, so hard that he sees stars. But thankfully, the situation doesn’t escalate any further. The guard gets up, drags him roughly to his feet, pushes him against the wall as Po tries to catch his breath. “You’re lucky you have a visitor today,” he says menacingly, “or I’d do a lot more than rough you up a little.”

“A little?” Po asks incredulously.

“Don’t tempt me.”

The rhino leaves, cell door slamming shut behind him. Po puts a paw against the wall to steady himself, shaking his head to clear his vision. He feels his jaw. Not broken, just sore. Regardless, he’s not looking forward to the next encounter.

“A-are you okay, guy?” Fung asks timidly.

“Peachy,” Po says lightly. “Besides, half of the people in this room have done a whole lot worse to me, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Oooh, did I? Did I?”

Po sighs. He does rub at his face with his paws this time, though the clinking of the chain is irritating beyond belief. “No, Fung, you definitely did not.”

“You are an idiot,” Hundun rumbles out of nowhere. “The most idiotic of idiots who ever acted idiotically, like an idiot.”

“Insults are getting a little stale there, Hundun,” Po says, rolling his eyes.

“No, he’s right,” Tong Fo says, even though he wrinkles his nose at being made to admit that someone other than him has made a valid point. “You think you can convince us not to destroy you if you defend us enough times.”

“What?” Po asks, genuinely confused. “No, why would I—I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

“Ugh, all you hero types are the same,” Taotie sniffs. “Acting all high-and-mighty. Look at you, thinking you’re doing the right thing.”

“I am!” Po says. “What are you—wait, why am I even talking about this with you guys? You’re in _prison_.”

“Well, so are you,” Taotie says, which Po can’t really argue against. “Come on, if you really wanted to do the right thing, then why _are_ we in prison?”

“Because all of you have tried to off me a dozen times!” Po says, offended.

“That’s all in the past now, Po,” Taotie chides. “Won’t you let go of all that already?”

“Tong Fo tried to off me _last night_!”

“Like I said, all in the past.”

“Your visitor’s here, panda,” the rhino guard snaps from outside the cell door. Po sends Taotie one last disbelieving look before he steps carefully forward, not wanting to set off the guard in front of Master Shifu. He had really been hoping that the guard wouldn’t be there for their meeting. Po talking about how he thinks some of the personnel working at Chorh-Gom Prison should be replaced in front of said personnel will not end well.

But he’ll just have to do it.

Po is expecting the guard to open the door and let him out, but he makes no move to do so. It doesn’t seem to matter to Shifu, but Po wants urgently to say that it matters to him. Looking out at his master’s face from behind bars makes him feel like a prisoner. Which he is, technically, but—a real one. It makes him feel like he’s done something wrong, like he deserves to be locked away.

He doesn’t, Po tells himself. He doesn’t.

Despite the situation, Po is immeasurably relieved to see a familiar face. (A safe face.) “How are you, panda?” Master Shifu asks.

“Great! Great,” Po says, and then adds, “How many more days again?”

“Two.” Shifu scrutinizes his expression. His eyes catch on Po’s face. Hurriedly, Po tries to smooth down the ruffled fur, but it’s useless. Shifu furrows his brow. “Who is responsible for this?”

“What? Responsible? Responsible for what?” Po babbles, but at Shifu’s look, he sighs. “I… I actually wanted to talk about that. I think…”

The rhino guard coughs. When Po turns to him, startled, he’s glaring, the threat obvious. Weirdly, Po feels a flash of fear that he quickly tries to bury. He’s the dragon warrior. He isn’t afraid of anyone.

Not anymore, at least.

“You think?” Shifu prompts.

“Maybe we should look into some of the guards here,” Po blurts in a rush. He’s suddenly irrationally nervous that the rhino will start beating him with Shifu right here. “Uh, you know, just to check if they’re, uh, qualified. For the job. I mean—”

“I will take your suggestion under consideration,” Shifu says firmly, cutting him off, but his eyes are hard with understanding. Po nods, purposefully doesn’t look at the guard again. “Loathe as I am to indulge you, I also brought you something at your father’s request.”

He produces two bean buns. Po stuffs them into his mouth before he can have any second thoughts about it. He doesn’t know when he’ll be able to get his next meal, and he might really collapse if he goes any longer without food.

Surprisingly, Shifu’s face doesn’t scrunch up in distaste. In fact, it almost… softens. Po doesn’t have time to think too much about it, because in the next moment the rhino is clearing his throat, saying, “Time’s up.”

The gentleness vanishes, and Shifu nods solemnly. To Po, he says, “I will come again tomorrow.” He cuts his eyes to the others, lounging behind Po and acting like they aren’t all listening in, but leaves it at that.

Po swallows. “Thanks, Shifu,” he says, a little more sincerely than he had intended to.

The softness is back, just for a moment. “Goodbye, panda.”

Po lets himself be soothed. He knows what’s coming next.

Sure enough, as soon as Shifu is out of hearing range, the guard is on him. To his credit, he does remember to kick the cell door shut behind him before he slams Po into the wall. “What was that?” he says harshly. “Are you trying to say that I don’t do my job right?”

“I never named anyone,” Po defends.

“You know as well as I do that the first one they’ll investigate is me!”

Another slam. Po’s head swims slightly, a flare of pain spreading over the back of his skull. “Well, then, maybe they shou—”

“Shut up!” The rage in the rhino’s voice is legitimately chilling. The world goes briefly black as his fist makes contact, and when he can see again, Po is gasping for air.

He’s hit again in the ribs, hard enough that Po hears something crack unmistakably. He can’t help but make a sound of pain, but the rhino is already raising his hoof again. The stench of iron is already thick in his nose. At the next blow, Po coughs up blood.

The sight scares him more than he’s willing to admit. Before he can think about it, he lashes out, kicking the rhino away from him with so much panicked force that he crashes and skids ten feet away.

Hundun leaps out of the way, but circles back to observe the guard, whose expression of shock is melting into even more anger.

“Sorry!” Po says, frantic. “Sorry, I—I didn’t mean to—”

But the guard is advancing again and Po is scared in a way that he hasn’t been for a very long time and he catches the rhino’s hoof in the chain of his manacles and flips him without thinking.

“So you can fight back,” Tong Fo says placidly. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten how.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Po says helplessly. But the guard charges again and he concentrates on standing still this time, even though every part of him is tense, wanting to flinch away from the incoming impact.

Hundun sticks a leg out, tripping the guard. Taotie bops him on the horn with his hoof, tutting. “Oh, would you just stop already?” he scolds.

Confused and frustrated, the guard sits up and attempts to bat Taotie away, but Tong Fo leaps onto his chest, taking his face between his paws and leaning in close, eye to eye. “Come off it. What exactly do you think is going to happen to you when someone learns that you attacked the dragon warrior?”

The rhino pales, as if in his fury he’d forgotten exactly whom he was dealing with.

“That’s right,” the primate coos. “Go on, you’re no longer needed here.”

The guard scrambles to get out. Po’s racing heart calms slightly. “U-um,” he says. “I don’t… understand.”

“It was getting annoying to watch,” Tong Fo says, now inspecting his fingernails.

“Yeah, he’s, like, totally mean,” Fung says. “He even tried to stop us from celebrating Gahri’s birthday.”

“Dumb too,” Taotie says haughtily. “He wouldn’t listen to me talk about my machines. Can you believe it? My beautiful machines!”

Po doesn’t know what to say to that. Any of it. He shifts, and pain spears through his insides. Right. That crack couldn’t have been good. He forcibly breathes shallowly until some of the pain subsides, along with the black spots that have bafflingly appeared in his vision.

“Po,” Bian Zao says. He sounds urgent, which is a weird thing to hear in his voice. His hooves are on Po’s arm, shaking it. When did he get so close? “Po? Can you, like, hear me?”

“Huh?” Po says dully, a bit distracted by the white hot pain in his chest. “Yeah, just… give me… a minute.”

“You had better not die on us now, panda,” Tong Fo says venomously.

“Like you care,” Po croaks. Then realization strikes him. “Hey! Does that mean…” He has to pause to catch his breath. “That my… idiocy… worked?”

Hundun glowers at him. “No. It is only so that I can be the one to obliterate you, with the power of a thousand mighty obliterating forces so that you are obliterated. By me.”

“Quite right,” Tong Fo says. “Don’t mistake this for mercy, panda. I am the only one who will take pleasure in your death.”

“How… do you make… being nice… so evil?” Po wheezes.

The word must set Tong Fo off, because in the next moment he’s stalking close. “I told you that—”

He’s prodding Po in the chest, but when he makes a strangled noise, bewilderingly, Tong Fo stops. He scowls as Po curls forward but doesn’t make to push him again.

“Aw,” Po says breathily, “you like me.”

“You’re lucky you look so pathetic right now, panda,” he spits.

Po takes the hint and shuts up.

The pain gets worse. Po ends up slumped against the wall, shivering slightly, arms tucked against his aching ribs. His wrists are starting to feel unbearably sore.

Bian Zao sits next to him, even though his dad keeps opening his mouth to say something and then shutting it again. Po always knew he was a good kid.

After a few hours, the cell door swings open and a rhino enters. Another stands guard by the door. Po has to blink several times before he can tell that they’re both different guards, for once. The one lumbering toward Po is holding something—chains.

“What are those for?” Taotie demands.

“They’re restraints, obviously,” Tong Fo says, rolling his eyes. “He did assault a noble, courageous guard.”

The new rhino stops a few feet away from Po, staring at him with narrow eyes. Po’s hopes that this guard will be less corrupt than the last tank. “We were informed that you attacked your previous guard,” he rumbles.

“Is he okay?” Po asks, guilty despite himself. The guard hadn’t been evil, after all. He hadn’t gone on a rampage through the valley or endangered civilian lives. Po should have been gentler.

“No thanks to you. Don’t move.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Po says, but he breaks off into a gasp as the rhino steps closer and yanks his arms away from his chest. Pain shoots through him all over again and he doubles over. The guard must somehow interpret it as a threat because he hits Po, leaving him stunned and reeling.

“Po!” Bian Zao says, voice small, but he doesn’t move. Good. Smart boy. He is not getting hurt on Po’s watch.

The guard undoes the handcuffs, but Po barely gets a chance to flex his wrists before new ones are being clamped around them, tighter than the ones before, painfully so. Po follows the guard’s gaze to a hook on the wall, but that’s all the warning he gets before his cuffs are jerked upward and he screams.

The explosion of pain in his ribs is agonizing, and it doesn’t fade as Po struggles to take in desperate gasps of air, thrashing to relieve the pressure and being unable to. His vision splotches yellow and his screaming gutters into low, hitching breaths. He’s limp, dangling by his cuffed wrists by the time he regathers enough cognitive awareness to remember who he is and where.

“What’s wrong with him?” he hears the guard asking through the ringing in his ears.

“He has broken ribs, you idiot,” Tong Fo says, his voice biting.

“Hm.” The guard’s footsteps fade. The cell door shuts. There’s an uncomfortable, awful silence.

“Your screaming kinda hurt my ears, guy,” Fung says after a few seconds.

“Fung!” Gahri chastises.

“S’rry,” Po slurs. He heaves in another shuddering breath, wincing at the pain that follows. Thank the Emperor, it’s easing a bit. He’ll be used to it soon.

“Wow, Po, you really aren’t looking so good,” Taotie says, voice faux-bright.

“ _Dad_ ,” Bian Zao says. Concerned? Huh. It’s really a day for new emotions. A little more vulnerable, he asks, “…Po?”

“I’m okay,” Po rasps, his voice hoarse and broken.

For some reason, Bian Zao’s snout wrinkles. “No, you’re not!” he shouts, taking the entire room aback. “You were _screaming_! I’ve never… I’ve never heard you like that before…”

Guilt surges through Po. He wants to apologize again, but he can’t find the words.

“I had admittedly fantasized about the sound many times,” Tong Fo says thoughtfully. “But reality was… more disappointing than I had expected.”

It’s such a creepy and uniquely Tong Fo statement that Po chokes out a laugh. His rib cage throbs, but it fades after a moment.

“Sorry,” Po says as sincerely as he can through the pain, “f’r worrying you.”

As expected, he receives a chorus of denials. It’s bizarrely comforting in its familiarity.

The door unlocks. A guard comes in. The first one, his wrist wrapped in cloth. Bian Zao takes a step forward, as if he’s about to do something foolish, but the guard doesn’t give him the chance.

“I know you’re the dragon warrior,” he says, voice dripping with contempt, “but my wrist is going to be sore for days.”

He winds back with his good hoof and punches Po in the ribs before anyone can react. Po passes out.

When Po comes to, he’s been slung over someone’s shoulder and they’re running fast. Every jostle sends a lightning bolt of pain through him, and though he wants to stay quiet until he knows what’s happening, he can’t help the whimper that spills out of him.

His ride stops, puts him down none too gently. Po blinks, dazed. “Hundun?”

“You are awake,” Hundun thunders. “I was beginning to think that you would not wake, and would instead remain not awake.”

“Where…”

“Somewhere south of Chorh-Gom,” comes Tong Fo’s voice from his left. The primate lands into view a moment later. “Escaping was always the plan. We… pooled our resources.”

“Once we get to my emergency escape vehicle, no one’ll catch us,” Taotie proclaims proudly from his other side.

“Right…” Po’s head hurts. He’s exhausted, in no shape to fight. He looks down at his paws, still cuffed together, and with the addition of thick manacles around his ankles. “I guess I’m your prisoner now.”

“No, no, quite the opposite.” Tong Fo chuckles. “You’re our accomplice.”

“The guard came back to beat you up,” Fung says, smiling. “Told you he was mean.”

“And he left the door open,” Taotie finishes. “Told you he was dumb.”

“Then why…”

Po pulls at the chains, but they don’t budge. Tong Fo laughs, a little more nervously. “Those are just… a precaution.”

“Please don’t rob anyone right now,” Po half-pleads, knowing that if they plan to, he isn’t in any state to fight them, and also knowing that he’ll try anyway.

“What? Are we not allowed?” Fung whines.

“Uh… no?” Po tries.

The crocodile throws his helmet down. “Darn it!”

“Don’t worry,” Tong Fo assures. “We don’t plan on any robberies… today.”

Po feels like a fool. He had thought there might have been something kind in the hearts of these villains, had let himself believe that they may have even been building some kind of camaraderie. And now he is chained and at their mercy, helpless to do anything but be dragged who knows where to watch them commit who knows what kinds of crimes.

He really is an idiot.

Po stares down at his paws, focusing on his breathing. He tells himself that Shifu and the Five will find him. He tells himself that he’ll escape and stop them once his ribs heal. He tells himself that he will _not_ start hyperventilating in front of a group of people who have each tried to murder him several times over. (A group of people who he had thought could be redeemed.)

No. He still thinks that. They haven’t hurt anyone yet, this time. He shouldn’t give up so soon.

“Uh oh,” Taotie says. “He looks like he’s about to cry.”

“Or get really mad and beat us up,” Fung adds.

Po forces his expression to level out. His ribs twinge. Everything hurts, but now that he’s had some time to recover he can pinpoint the breaks, somewhere on his lower left side. “I won’t,” he says cautiously, “as long as no one gets hurt.”

“That’s kind of vague,” Fung point out. “Do you count? ‘Cause you get hurt a lot. Wait, do we count? I bet we count. Do we?”

Po doesn’t bother to grace him with a response.

They set up camp for the night. As humiliating as it is, Hundun carries Po most of the way. His sole attempt at walking culminated in a few minutes trying desperately not to retch from the pain, knowing that would make it infinitely worse.

They don’t have food, which means an endless back-and-forth between Fung and Gahri. Po would join in if the pain wasn’t so acute after what felt like hours of constant, unstable movement, making him more nauseous than anything. Bian Zao is poking at the small fire Hundun lit after an intense battle with a sharpened stick and some logs. He glances at Taotie—the warthog is making large, sweeping motions with his arms as he talks at Tong Fo about his inventions—every so often, face shadowed by the flames.

Po hobbles over. Maneuvering is already awkward with his ribs, and it’s doubly so with the chains around his ankles. Thinking about them for too long makes his throat feel tight with something terribly similar to fear, so he concentrates only on making sure he doesn’t trip over himself.

When he gets close, Bian Zao shuffles aside, making room for him. The gesture is sweet, if unexpected, and Po offers him a small smile. “Hey, BZ,” he greets, surprised to hear the strain in his voice. Oh. Maybe the events of the day are affecting him more than he had thought.

Somewhat reluctantly, Bian Zao returns, “Hey.”

“You doing okay?” Po asks.

Bian Zao looks at him with the most disdain he’s ever seen on the teenager’s face. “You’re the one with broken ribs or whatever. Why are you asking me?”

“I’m just worried about you,” Po says, trying to keep his tone cool and casual. Sincerity runs the kid off sometimes.

Sure enough, Bian Zao squirms. “Whatever,” he grumbles. “I’m fine, I guess.”

“Are you and your dad out and about like this often?” Po looks around.

“Not really.” Bian Zao seems to be relaxing a little. “He usually goes straight home to start working on a new machine. You know, to destroy you.”

“I’m familiar,” Po says. Strangely enough, it’s easy to joke about Taotie when Po isn’t in imminent danger of being crushed by his inventions. Bian Zao smiles. It’s a small thing, but it’s there.

A little more wistfully, he mumbles, “I wish he would talk to me, though.”

“Maybe you should try baking again,” Po suggests. “Together?”

“I guess he kind of liked the cakes. Even though there were machine parts in them.”

Po winces. “Right.”

They both pause, and then Bian Zao says, flushed, “Sorry.”

“Huh? For what?”

“You know. The baking. And the time my dad went crazy. And the lightning powers I stole.”

Po rubs his neck. “Yeah, that wasn’t fun.” Bian Zao looks down, and Po gentles, nudging him in the shoulder. “Hey, it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

The kid shrugs.

“Besides,” Po says cheerfully, “you mostly had my back, when I wasn’t being electrocuted.”

“I guess.”

“You’re a good kid, BZ,” Po says, smiling softly.

“Feelings are so lame,” he grouses.

Po laughs, then has to stop when his ribs throb. He rolls his wrists, trying to get some feeling back into them to distract himself from the sharp pain. He’s really starting to get sick of the sound of chains clinking.

“I tried to tell them not to,” Bian Zao says, lingering discomfort still in his voice, “but they wouldn’t listen.”

“These?” Po wiggles his cuffed paws, and Bian Zao nods.

“I can take them off,” Taotie says from behind them. Po jumps a little.

“Are you done talking about your lame machines already?” Bian Zao says, rolling his eyes.

“For the moment.” Taotie eyes Po, moving to sit in front of him. “As I was saying, I can get these off.”

“Why?” Po asks, suspicious. He folds his paws tighter against his chest.

“Tong Fo says we’re heading to a village tomorrow, and he needs you for something.”

Po bristles. “I am not going to help you rob anyone.”

“Take it up with him then. Look, do you want them off or not?”

Po hesitates, but he allows Taotie to start fiddling with the cuffs. In a matter of moments, they’ve fallen away, and the rush of restored circulation makes Po’s paws go numb. He hisses, rubbing at his wrists, where his fur’s been flattened and the skin underneath rubbed raw.

“No kung fu,” Taotie says sternly. “Or they go back on.”

Po glares at him, but doesn’t argue. After a second, Taotie rocks back in his sitting position, settling more firmly. Po keeps one eye on him, thoughts racing. If he can get the tool Taotie used, he might be able to get the cuffs around his ankles off. He can warn the village, get them to evacuate or at least guard their valuables.

Taotie swats his knee, and Po recoils with a yelp. “What?”

“I can see you scheming,” Taotie says. “Knock it off already.”

“You kidnapped me!” Po says, accusatory.

“No, we broke you out of prison,” Taotie corrects.

As indignant as he feels, Po doesn’t have a comeback to that. A little more bitterly, he asks, “Why haven’t you just obliterated me or whatever yet?”

Taotie makes a sour face. But his answer is oddly honest. “I don’t know. It’s not as fun when you aren’t trying very hard not to be obliterated.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“And I _suppose_ you’re still my only friend.”

The resentment breaks open, and Po feels his spirits lighten. “You do like me! I knew it. No one can resist the charms of the Po-man.”

Bian Zao groans. “Lame.”

The village comes into view, and the anxiety in Po’s stomach resurfaces with a vengeance. He doesn’t know what Tong Fo and the rest of them are planning, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to be able to stop them. His hands are free, and have regained some strength after a night of recuperation, but he’s exhausted from snapping awake every few minutes to assure himself his limbs are all still intact.

“Do we get to steal stuff now?” Fung keeps asking, like a demented version of _are we there yet_. Tong Fo shakes his head a few times before he shakes the crocodile by the shoulders and orders him to shut his mouth. He does, for about five minutes.

Hundun drops Po when they’re close enough to see the villagers bustling about. Po stumbles a few steps, and is stopped when Tong Fo springs onto his shoulder, eyes uncomfortably close to Po’s. “Let me get one thing straight, panda,” he says calmly. “You are the dragon warrior, and we are your travel companions. I’m sure no one would neglect to offer us a meal and whatever else we need.”

“You want me to use my status to take advantage of these villagers?” Po says incredulously.

“It won’t hurt anyone,” Tong Fo says dismissively. “Just as you wanted.”

“Doing the right thing isn’t just about not hurting people. Exploiting them isn’t much better.”

“What do you expect?” the primate hisses. “We need supplies if we’re going to make it back to the valley.”

“And then what?” Po asks. “What happens when we get back? You go right back to terrorizing innocents?”

The question actually gives Tong Fo pause, but he brushes it off. “I’m a crime lord, panda. It’s what I do.”

“It doesn’t have to be!” Po insists. “You can change things. You can be better. I-I believe in you.”

“Oh, no, this again,” Taotie mutters from the side.

“You—” Tong Fo laughs, a bit surprised and a bit hysterical. “You’re serious.”

“I am. Maybe you weren’t the best in the past, but you still have a chance to do the right thing now.”

Even though he means every word, Po feels a crawling trepidation under his fur. The last time he said this, Shen tried to kill him and ended up dead. Po really doesn’t want a repeat of that. He braces himself.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Tong Fo muses, and Po blinks, caught off guard more than he probably has any right to be. “I honestly don’t recall life before villainy, but that can always change.”

“I recall it well,” Hundun says. “I lost my job. My family. My favorite shoes.”

“You can still get them back!” Po says in what he hopes is an encouraging voice.

“But I don’t wanna go back to working for my crappy dad,” Fung says miserably. “It sucks depending on your parents when you’re, like, an adult and stuff.”

“Our hideout is in your mom’s basement,” Gahri reminds him.

“Darn it, _Gary_!”

“And I still have that magnificent magnifier,” Taotie says thoughtfully. “I’ll show Goaty who really invented it.”

A tentative hope starts fluttering in Po’s chest. Tong Fo leaps off of his shoulder, observing the village. “It would be a shame to destroy this village,” he remarks. “It has a certain charm to it.”

The feeling balloons. “You won’t regret it, Tong Fo,” Po says, earnest and heartfelt.

“No,” the primate says. He smiles widely at Po, and a chill shoots down his spine. He brushes it off as paranoia. “I certainly won’t.”

They’ve nearly made it back to their campsite from last night when Tong Fo calls for them to stop. They’re in a clearing of some sort, surrounded by thick undergrowth on all sides. Hundun shoves Po forward. Tong Fo stands facing away from him, hands clasped behind his back.

“Anything to say, panda?”

“U-um, yeah, listen,” Po stammers. “I’m really glad you had a change of heart. I’m sure—”

He’s drowned out by the sound of Tong Fo’s chuckle, low and oddly pitched. “You fool.”

“What?”

“Did you really think I had a ‘change of heart’? Come on. I know you’re an idiot, but I thought you were smarter than that.”

The fragile emotion pops. Po tenses, looking behind him. Bian Zao, Taotie, and the croc bandits look confused—they weren’t in on this—but Hundun has positioned himself squarely in front of the only opening to the clearing. Po’s heart starts beating rapidly.

“You don’t have to do this, Tong Fo,” Po presses. “I meant what I said. I believe in you.”

Tong Fo turns around. His eyes are cold. “You shouldn’t.”

He lunges. Po ducks out of the way, but his chest spasms when he tries to lift his arm in a block. He takes a defensive stance instead, the manacles around his ankles pulling tight.

“W-wait,” Bian Zao says, “I thought—”

“Quiet, son,” Taotie admonishes. So he won’t be any help either. Po feels cold.

He wants to say something, to appeal to Taotie or Hundun or even Fung and Gahri, but Tong Fo punches him in the throat and he can only wheeze for air. He pushes past the pain and throws a punch of his own, managing to send the primate skidding back a few feet, but without warning, Hundun is behind him, wresting his arms to his sides and forcing him to his knees.

He struggles, mind blurring from the pain of the grip, but the rhino keeps him pinned, and Tong Fo gets up, cracking his neck. “You don’t hit like you used to, panda,” he taunts, and then, seemingly out of the blue, “Are you right-handed or left-handed?”

“Ambidextrous,” Po shoots back defiantly.

“Ah, that’s a shame.” Tong Fo smiles. It’s chilling. “I was going to let you keep one.”

_What?_ Po wants to ask, but Hundun covers his mouth with one hoof, the other ripping one of Po’s arms from his sides and holding it out. Po pushes back against the rhino, but he holds firm. Tong Fo takes Po’s left paw in his own, patting it lightly.

In one smooth motion, he snaps it over his knee.

Po’s vision whites out. His chest is heaving with anguished breaths, and the pain in his ribs is protesting against his panic, but a knife of agony is twisting in his wrist, like nothing he’s ever felt before. He’s shaking all over, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Taotie shielding his son’s eyes.

Po becomes aware that he’s screaming, but it’s muffled by Hundun’s hoof. The rhino is stiff, but he doesn’t let go, even as Po’s shrieks die down into a whine he can’t stifle and he sags forward, tears pricking at his eyes. The aftershocks tear through him, leaving his insides scraped raw and open. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

Tong Fo barely blinks. He reaches for Po’s other paw. Po thrashes with renewed desperation, but he’s trapped, and all he can think is _please, please, not again. Not again_.

Tong Fo pauses. To Hundun, he says, “Let him speak.”

The hoof on his mouth is removed, and Po pants, lightheaded from lack of oxygen. Tong Fo’s grip on his right paw is like iron, and Po doesn’t have time to think about his reputation, his stupid ideas about what it means to be a hardcore warrior.

“ _Please_ ,” he begs, his voice thin and tremulous, “please—please don’t—”

“Sorry, panda.” Tong Fo smirks. “You should have listened.”

He brings the paw down with an awful crunch. Another scream catches in Po’s throat. There’s a nauseating buzz in his head that crescendos until it’s deafening, and finally, mercifully, everything goes dark.

Po wakes the same way he has for a while now: groggy, bound, and in pain. He instinctively shifts, trying to raise his paws, but pain spears through him and he passes out.

The second time, Po stays still until the dizzy disorientation fades into awareness and he remembers what happened. How he got here. Feeling sick, he looks down at his paws. They’re swollen and limp, and his wrists have been cuffed again. Whoever did the job was kind enough to hook the chain around a tree root close to the ground instead of above his head—no. What is he thinking? Nothing about this is kind. Kind would have been not chaining him up to begin with. Kind would have been _not breaking his wrists_.

Po’s breathing is starting to pick up again, so he drags his eyes away from his paws. He’s still in the same clearing, half-propped against an ancient tree. The cuffs around his ankles haven’t changed. He’s alone.

Fear starts to seize him. As horrible as the last time he saw Tong Fo was, they can’t just—leave him here. He’s been chained down, with broken ribs and now broken wrists, without food or supplies or anything. He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t even know if he can walk. He’s easy prey for anyone that comes through the woods, bounty hunters or crooks or otherwise.

Po curls into himself. He feels faint again, and unpleasantly like he’s really about to cry. The fear at the back of his throat is tangible. He can almost taste it.

As slowly as he can, Po drags his paws into his lap where they’ll have more support. It’s a tortuous effort, every movement accompanied by a fresh stab of excruciating pain, and he’s trembling uncontrollably by the time it’s over. He breathes shortly and shallowly, trying not to aggravate his ribs, and trying even harder not to succumb to the sob building in his chest.

He stays like that for a while, determinedly not thinking about the fact that he can’t just sit here forever. Then he hears footsteps: a group approaching from the distance. Po ducks his head. Part of him wants to resist, to go down fighting if he has to go down at all. But more of him is frightened and hurt and wondering if this will all be over soon.

The sounds get closer, and Po recognizes their voices. So they came back for him.

He stares at his paws, not looking up at them. There’s a thick, awkward silence. Figures. Po won’t speak first. He won’t give them the satisfaction. And he has nothing to say to them.

“Um, we, like, got stuff for you, guy,” Fung says. “So don’t be mad.”

Po lifts his head to give him a scathing glare. It’s more venomous than he usually has the heart for, but he doesn’t try to take it back.

Tong Fo scuttles into his line of sight. Behind him, Hundun is pulling along a cart full of what Po assumes is stolen items. They went back to the village, then.

The surge of terror that sweeps through him when Tong Fo moves toward him is unanticipated, but Po clenches his jaw and shoves it away. He knows Tong Fo can tell, if the twitching of his nose is any indication. But the primate doesn’t comment on it, the way Po was sure he would. He doesn’t come any closer either.

“I see you’re awake,” he observes.

Po glares at him too. If they were planning to kill him for insolence, they would have done it already.

“Oh, come on. You’re not a child. You can’t expect to give me the silent treatment forever.”

Tong Fo narrows his eyes. Po concentrates on that, does his best to forget about the expression he was wearing when he took Po’s wrist and snapped it like a twig. As if in response to his thoughts, his paws twinge.

“This is getting ridiculous, panda,” Tong Fo says, irked. “Say something.”

Po’s voice is rough, but deadly. “What are you going to do, break my wrists _again_?”

That shuts him up.

“Um, hey, Po?”

Bian Zao is biting his lip, hovering unsurely nearby. Po tries to block his voice out, even though he knows he’s being unfair. If there’s one person he can’t blame for any of this mess, it’s Bian Zao.

“I-I brought you some food. And…” He waves some bandages.

“I can’t use my paws,” Po says acidly. Bian Zao shrinks at his tone, and he sighs. “I’m sorry, Bian Zao. I know you didn’t ask for this.”

“It was really… it was really horrible to watch,” the kid mumbles.

Instead of saying _yeah, it was pretty horrible to go through too_ , Po says in his best comforting voice, “I’m sure it was.”

“And my dad just didn’t do anything, and… and…”

Oh, no. He looks close to tears. Despite everything, Po is touched by his concern. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he consoles. “You don’t need to worry about all that. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Bian Zao says miserably. But he swallows it down. “Do… do you want me to—”

He gestures at the items he’s holding, then glances nervously at Po’s paws. Po smiles, even though he feels more like shouting. “I don’t think I’m really up for holding anything right now.”

“Right.” Bian Zao flushes. “Maybe I can—I can help.”

Though Po is loath to have anything to do with stolen goods, he knows he should keep his strength up. As Bian Zao helps him eat, a gnawing ache in Po’s gut abates, one that he didn’t even know was there.

Then Bian Zao reaches for Po’s paws.

Po flinches away, heart thudding in his throat. “Don’t!”

“Sorry!” Bian Zao’s eyes are wide. He puts his hooves in the air obediently. “I-I should have asked.”

“It’s… it’s all right,” Po says slowly. “I… I don’t know what came over me. You can… go ahead.”

Bian Zao telegraphs his intentions clearly as he moves this time, waiting for Po to nod before he makes contact. As gentle as he’s trying to be, Po still sucks in a pained breath at the touch, and Bian Zao worries his lower lip. “Maybe we should do your ribs first.”

“Yeah.”

Po instructs him on how tightly to wrap the bandages, biting his tongue to keep from crying out. By the time Bian Zao manages to tie the wrapping off, Po is blinking spots from his vision. “L-let’s… do the rest… another time,” he says, voice strangled.

“O-okay.”

Po reconstructs his composure while Bian Zao shuffles, tail flicking absently at a leaf that drifts past. Quietly, he says, “Thanks.”

Bian Zao doesn’t ask what he’s being thanked for. He offers Po a small, nervous smile. Then he looks away. “Tong Fo is kind of lame.”

Po sobers. His throat feels tight again. “That he is.”

“He…” Bian Zao looks around furtively. “He scares me a little.”

Po furrows his brow. “Has he hurt you?”

“No”—Po relaxes—“but he—but he hurt you.”

Forcing a smile, Po says, “Hey, comes with the job.”

“Still. It’s weird seeing you lose.”

The comment sticks with Po. He’s reminded that Bian Zao is only ever there for the victory, the exploding machine parts and the interior of the prison cell. He doesn’t see the medical attention or the hushed talks about what ifs. He didn’t see the cast Crane was wearing for weeks or the blood Po keeps getting all over the Jade Palace steps.

“I’ll be okay,” he promises.

“Whatever.” But the ghost of a smile is back on Bian Zao’s face.

Taotie comes over at one point. Fung too, rambling skittishly until Gahri pulls him away, mouthing an apology. Tong Fo stays out of sight.

A few minutes after Bian Zao is dragged away by his dad to scheme, Hundun approaches, his hulking form stooped over. He stands, fidgeting with his hooves, in front of Po for a moment or two. When it becomes clear that Po is not planning to invite him to sit, he does so anyway, unprompted and inelegant.

“Dragon warrior,” he addresses.

“Hundun,” Po acknowledges.

“Er. How are you?”

“What do you think?”

“You are mocking me,” Hundun says. “I can tell because your mocking voice is full of mockery.”

Po sighs. “What do you want?”

Hundun shuffles in his seat. “I… I came to apologize. And to express my apology.”

“What?” Po asks stupidly. “You did?”

“Yes.” Hundun rubs his horn. “It was… not as satisfying as I imagined. And I… regret it.”

Po is silent.

“Po,” Hundun says. “I am sorry.”

“That doesn’t change what happened,” Po says guardedly.

“I understand.” Hundun thinks for a moment. “At the village. What you said made me think about what you said. And I remembered the first time I met you, from my memory.”

“Yeah?”

Hundun takes a deep breath. “Maybe I can try.”

Po averts his gaze. He wants to believe Hundun. He wants to believe that it’s real, this time. But his ears are still ringing with the crunch of bones breaking, with the cost of being too soft, too gullible. The phantom pressure of the rhino’s crushing grip, holding him down, trapping him, is a persistent itch under his fur.

His voice is a whisper when he speaks. Confesses. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Hundun sounds almost kind when he says again, “I understand.”

He excuses himself.

They chain Po to the cart.

It’s as awful as it sounds. Po stares at a fixed point over Hundun’s shoulder as he does it, focusing very very hard on not letting the pain show on his face. The worst part of it all is the fact that the rhino is gentle about it. He winces sympathetically at all the right moments. He moves slowly, ensuring that Po is aware of his every action.

It doesn’t change the fact that Po is trapped and hurt and doesn’t know where he is, and every cursed bump on the road as they start moving sends a sickening jolt of pain through him. His wrists are never going to heal right. He might lose his hands. He might never be able to do kung fu the same way again.

Bian Zao and Taotie sit in the cart with him. He’s not sure if it’s by their choice or not. They talk, to him sometimes, to each other other times, a meaningless droning in his ears. He does his best to smile when Bian Zao looks at him, but it’s difficult to think through the constant stream of pain, the unending jostling of his injuries. He considers asking Hundun to just knock him out again. It would be easier.

He thinks he might be getting delirious. Time blurs together. The only thing that stays in his mind for long is the pain.

Po doesn’t know how long it’s been since they started moving. It could have been a couple of hours. But it feels more like a couple of days.

They stop. As the pounding in his head eases off slightly, Po gains back a bit of lucidity. Bian Zao offers him water, which he accepts. He’s not yet so far gone that it doesn’t sting his pride to need help drinking, but he is grateful nevertheless. The kid is stuck in a bad situation and is doing his best.

“I’m proud of you,” he says, sincerely, before he can think too much about it.

Just like last time, the kid’s eyes widen in shock. He flushes faintly, but this time, he looks at his dad, uncertain.

“Don’t look at me,” Taotie says crossly, “he’s the sappy family type.”

“Dad!” Bian Zao complains, and Po relaxes into the domesticity.

“If you morons are done now, it’s time to go,” Tong Fo interrupts. Po stiffens, but the primate isn’t even looking in their direction. The bored malice in his voice is directed at the pile of crocodiles in front of the cart.

Fung makes one of his annoyed reptile noises, but grumbles an affirmative. He and the other bandits get back to their labor. As the cart grinds into motion, the cuffs jerk against Po’s wrists, and he curls forward with a shuddering gasp. Back to this again.

Then there’s an odd noise. A low rumbling, like an approaching herd of horses. Maybe an entire army. Momentarily distracted, Po blinks out at the scenery. They’re on a narrow mountain pass, a cliff overlooking a valley below on their right. The rock face to their left is… shaking?

“Stop!” Tong Fo shouts, and the crocodiles start turning around, expressions confused, and that’s when the mountain caves in on them.

As if in slow motion, Po watches a massive boulder roll down. It knocks into the cart, crushing its front half and spraying splinters of broken wood everywhere; the crocodiles yelp and scatter, but the earth is rolling underneath their feet, and then Po loses sight of them, loses sight of everything. The boulder hadn’t stopped at the cart, but bowled straight into him. He’s in the air, the world spinning wildly, and he’s weightless, gagging on the dust that plumes in the air. He’s falling, much farther than he has any right to. Colors streak across his vision. He thinks he might be about to die.

Then there’s a hard wrenching force on his wrists and shoulders, a matching tear in his rib cage, and he screams, ragged, and he stops falling.

By the time he’s conscious again, he’s shaking and there are tears in his eyes. He blinks the blurriness away and realizes what’s happened in fragments. There was an avalanche. He was knocked off the cliff. He looks up, and sure enough, the remnants of the mostly decimated cart are jammed against a tree at the side of the path. His right arm is hanging loose at his side, paw at an odd angle. His left is attached to the singular cuff that remains intact, and the chain is hooked solidly around the tree.

It’s difficult to breathe. He may or may not have dislocated a shoulder in the fall. His ribs are as bad as they were when he got them broken in the first place. The wrist that’s been freed is aching something fierce. And the other—

In that moment, very briefly, Po wants to die.

He can do nothing but dangle by his wrist for a while, wheezing and trembling. A swell of fear and helplessness threatens to overtake him. But then the tree above him creaks, and he looks down at the endless ravine below him, and a feral, animalistic survival instinct kicks in.

He doesn’t know how he manages it. Afterward, he honestly can’t remember. But somehow, against all reason, he manages to pull himself up. He gets a leg onto the tree, and the taut pull of the undamaged manacles around his ankles alleviates some of the pressure from his wrist. He crawls up over the edge. The branch snaps, and Po very nearly is dragged back over. Somehow, the chain works itself loose just in time for him to catch himself.

He hyperventilates for a few minutes, gravel in his mouth, unable to care. Then he looks around.

The path is littered with rubble, rocks and pieces of wood strewn as far as the eye can see. In it he can see some of his travel companions, half-buried but mostly seeming intact. Po staggers to his feet, stumbling as best as he can to the nearest body. Bian Zao. Po’s heart thumps loudly in his ears as he kicks the debris away, thankful beyond words that his legs still seem to be holding out, although it could just be the adrenaline.

He leans down, feels for breath, and sags in relief when he finds it. The kid is only out cold, then. Thank the Emperor.

Po digs the rest of them out, counting the number. Another thing that he’s still able to do. He has no idea how he’s made it out of this without a concussion, but he won’t question it. By the time he’s searched the entire area, he’s missing just one.

Tong Fo.

He’s the smallest of them, so it makes sense that Po could have missed him. But he looks, twice, then thrice, and he would have looked more if the adrenaline hadn’t faded out of his system, leaving him to topple over, barely remembering not to try to halt his fall with his paws.

Heart sinking, he realizes what must have happened. It would have been easy to be knocked off the side of the cliff. After all, it happened to him. He only survived because of his stupid wrists. Stupid chains. Stupid Po.

He tries to sort through his messy feelings, but they’re too much. He doesn’t know what to feel, what to do. Tong Fo kidnapped him. Robbed a village. Broke his _wrists_. But he was also almost-nice. Almost-respectful, occasionally.

Out of nowhere, he hears, “Are you done having your pity party now, panda?”

“T-T—” Po stutters, casting about for a glimpse of the crime lord. He sees nothing, and wonders if he’s hallucinating, but the voice comes again.

“Down here.”

Unsurely, he drags himself over in the direction of the voice. The valley opens below him, and he hitches a breath at the pressure on his ribs that comes with curving forward, the searing pain, but Tong Fo is there, clinging to a branch just out of reach.

“You’re alive,” he manages.

“I am. Now are you going to help me up or not?”

Po should reach out his paw. He should reach down and let Tong Fo grab on and pull him up, get him to safety. He should save him, because Po has always just wanted to keep others safe, and he still blames himself for not thinking of getting Shen out of the way, and the guilt of using the Wuxi Finger Hold on Tai Lung keeps him up at night sometimes.

But he’s frozen.

Tong Fo’s face changes. The cocky annoyance slips, revealing something far more undetermined. “…panda?”

Po stares at his paws. He doesn’t want Tong Fo to touch them ever again. He doesn’t want anyone to touch them ever again. The grisly crunch of his own bones replays in his head like a horrible shadow puppet show.

“Dragon warrior?”

The title jars Po. He remembers that he’s supposed to be the dragon warrior. He’s supposed to protect people. Probably even people who try to kill him, and chain him up, and break his wrists.

Ignoring his pulse, which races so hard and so fast that he idly worries he may black out, he stretches out his right paw, the one that hurts marginally less. Tong Fo shifts his grip on the tree branch, makes an attempt at grabbing at it. He comes up short. Far too short. Not the type of short that a motivational speech or extra burst of energy can fix. Po watches in a daze. He feels very faraway, like he’s abandoned his own body. And Tong Fo stops for a moment, and drops his hand back onto the branch, and doesn’t try reaching up again.

“This isn’t going to work, panda,” he says. “I can’t reach you.”

“Oh,” Po says, sounding distant.

He pulls his paw back. He breathes heavily, as if he is trying to think of solutions. But he isn’t thinking of those. He’s thinking about something far worse.

He could leave. He could pull himself away. He would encounter someone eventually, a traveler or a village. He could get help. He could get directions to the Jade Palace. He could go home.

He looks back, in a daze. All the others are still unconscious. But when they woke up, they would find Tong Fo and pull him up. Maybe. He wouldn’t be leaving them to die. He would just… be leaving.

“Po?”

Po recoils like he’s been punched. The sound of his name coming out of Tong Fo’s mouth is so foreign that part of him rejects it. It’s almost too intimate. Too personal.

Too real.

Shame sweeps through him. How could he think that? Tong Fo could lose his grip before the others woke up. Or they could wake up and be so disoriented that they wouldn’t hear him, wouldn’t find him. Or they might not wake up at all. They could all be dying, for all Po knows.

“Grab hold,” he rasps.

He puts his left paw out. Naturally, it doesn’t reach Tong Fo either.

But the chain does.

Tong Fo stares at it, spiraling lazily in the air inches from his face. It swings back and forth slightly, belying the tremors running through Po’s arm. Oh. He hadn’t noticed. He wonders why Tong Fo hasn’t taken hold yet.

“Your wrist,” Tong Fo says. His words have a strange note to them, something confused, or shocked, or maybe somewhere in between.

“Please,” Po whispers. Images of Tong Fo’s frigid smile as he listened to Po beg and kept hurting him anyway fill his mind. From the twist in Tong Fo’s expression, he sees them too.

The tree branch cracks. Moments before it falls away, he grabs the end of the chain.

Immediately, Po lets out a strangled shout. He nearly collapses forward, losing all the strength in his limbs at the pain that he’s suddenly wracked with, radiating dizzily from his wrist to the rest of his body. “A-ah,” he chokes out, swallowing the rest of his cries. Tong Fo’s large eyes dart from the tree branch, vanishing into the valley below, to Po’s face, crumpled with agonizing pain.

Po doesn’t wait for him to say something. He physically can’t. He falls backward, heaving his arm up with him and hoping his weight does the trick. The burn has spread everywhere, now, and it’s nearing unbearable. But there’s a grunt next to him, and the chain clatters against the ground. Tong Fo stands up, flexing his arms and rolling his neck.

He turns to Po, mouth opening. Po vaguely thinks his lips might be forming the shape of something like _thank you_ , but that can’t be right.

He doesn’t get much time to ponder this before the darkness closes in on him. That’s another thing that he really should be getting sick of. But as the residual pain fades out, he can’t bring himself to mind.

Po surfaces from the haziness of unconsciousness slowly. Surprisingly, he feels less awful than he’d expected to. There’s a pressure against his wrists, his chest, his shoulder. It’s not painful, just… there. Stabilizing, almost.

He opens his eyes to a dark, open sky. A fire crackles somewhere to his side. He’s lying on the ground by the cliff, but he’s been moved from where he fell.

Po attempts to sit up, but the effort leaves him panting. Then there are hooves on him, helping him up.

“You’re awake!” Bian Zao says.

“Finally,” Taotie grouses. “You sure took your time.”

“What happened?” Po asks. He looks down at himself, easier now that he’s upright. The bandages around his ribs have been rewrapped, with the addition of a sling around his dislocated shoulder. He rolls it experimentally, wincing. It’s been reset. And his wrists…

“The mountain suddenly decided to explode, that’s what happened,” Taotie says. “Luckily, all of us made it out okay.” He takes a beat, looks at Po. “Well, most of us.”

“Right,” Po says distractedly. He moves his paws gently, able to stretch them out for the first time in days. He had never thought he would appreciate being able to move his limbs so much. And the pain is barely a whisper in the back of his mind. He nods at the splints. “You guys did all this while I was out?”

“No, that was Tong Fo,” Taotie says.

“Is he okay?”

“I could be worse.”

Po flinches, jerking his paws back toward his chest. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed by any of them, but no one chooses to comment on it. Tong Fo’s sweatpants are scuffed and torn, but he still moves with a prowling sort of grace, circling around Po to stand facing him, hands folded at his back.

“That last stunt you pulled really messed up your paw,” Tong Fo says.

Despite himself, Po bristles. “Stunt? I was saving your life!”

He waits for Tong Fo to dismiss the comment, roll his eyes, even snap at him for his aggressive tone, but instead, the primate pauses. To Bian Zao and Taotie, he says, “Why don’t you two scuttle off for now?”

They do. Po tries to ignore how alone he suddenly feels.

“You’re scared of me,” Tong Fo observes.

“I’m not,” Po insists.

Tong Fo’s hand snaps out to grab his wrist. Po wrenches back, cowering, a plea already on his tongue, but Tong Fo doesn’t finish the movement. He just stands there and watches as Po comes back to himself, breathing sharply.

“Have I proven my point?” Tong Fo asks.

Po doesn’t respond for a few seconds, the vestiges of debilitating terror still swooping through him. “W-why would you… I-I thought you were going to—”

A flash of something passes over Tong Fo’s face. Regret? No, that can’t be right. “I wasn’t,” he says shortly. “I merely wanted to illustrate how utterly ridiculous your denial was.”

“Fine!” Po says. He’s absentmindedly alarmed to hear his own raised voice. “Fine! I am scared of you! I’m scared you’ll hurt me again, and I won’t be able to do anything about it, and I’m scared you’ll lock me up and leave me here to die, and I’m—yes, I’m scared of you! Is that you want to hear? Are you happy now?!”

The chatter behind them silences. The others must have heard his outburst. Po can’t bring himself to care.

“No,” Tong Fo says, and Po just doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what Tong Fo wants from him, what he’s supposed to do. “I’m not. And I’m not sure why.”

Po stares at him.

“I should be overjoyed,” Tong Fo says. “I’m the only person in China who’s vanquished the dragon warrior.”

“I’m not vanquished,” Po says, teeth gritted.

“You’re still trembling,” Tong Fo points out. “But that’s not the point. After everything, I’m still not satisfied. And I don’t understand why.” He sighs. “Maybe your dumb speech had something to it after all.”

“No,” Po says lowly.

“What?”

“No. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to smile as you break my wrists and then say something like that! I can’t redeem you! I can’t trust you!” Po’s voice cracks. Much more quietly, he whispers, “I don’t know how.”

“I understand,” Tong Fo says. It’s eerily reminiscent of Hundun.

Po resists the urge to scrub at his eyes. He takes a few deep breaths, although his chest protests. He looks at his paws, splinted. His shoulder, relocated.

“Why did you help me?”

Tong Fo cocks his head. “I couldn’t go around owing the dragon warrior, now could I?”

“I didn’t do it because I wanted you to be in my debt,” Po says honestly. “I did it because it was the right thing to do.”

Tong Fo curls his lip into a sneer. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “You really are an idiot.”

Po chuckles bitterly. The vibrations jar his ribs. “Maybe.”

Tong Fo stalks even closer. Po tries not to lean away too noticeably. “I could have killed you when you were unconscious. I could kill you right now.”

The threat rings hollow.

Softly, Po asks, “Are you going to?”

There’s a long pause.

“No,” Tong Fo says slowly, as if he’s tasting the word for the first time. “I suppose not.”

They reach the escape vehicle the next day.

It’s an arduous trip, but they make it. Most of them are sore and bruised, but all right; Po limps along, reluctantly supported by the crocodile bandits, who take turns trotting along next to him and letting him brace his slightly less injured arm against theirs when he gets overwhelmed. At some point, the manacles around his ankles were removed, and he hadn’t even noticed. The freedom is exhilarating.

“Here we are!” Taotie announces, and then they’re over the rise of a low ridge and they’re looking at a massive blimp that rises above the stony crags.

“Surprisingly not lame,” Bian Zao mutters.

“Not lame it is, son. My emergency escape blimp!”

“It’ll need manpower,” Tong Fo says, scampering up over the side and studying the pedaling mechanisms. “Fung, Gahri, I believe it’s your turn first.”

Po gets the feeling that it’ll be their turn for a long while.

“Wait,” he says. Everyone turns to look at him, and he bites the inside of his cheek, but continues. “Where… where are we going?”

They exchange glances. Clearly, they hadn’t discussed this before.

“I mean, the Valley of Peace would be the obvious choice,” Taotie says. “We all live near there.”

“And when we get there?” Po challenges.

The warthog’s gaze darts about uncomfortably. “Well, uh, my death machines…”

“Master Junjie sent me an offer to obliterate the Jade Palace together, as a team, working together,” Hundun adds.

“I dunno, I might go smash more of my dad’s statues,” Fung pipes up.

Anxiety starts welling in Po’s throat again. He shifts his weight. He’s frail and exhausted, but he’s still a kung fu master. He can’t just stand by. “You know I can’t let you do that.”

He doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Mostly to get beat up again. But nothing happens. Instead, their faces fall.

“Yeah, we _know_ , guy,” Fung complains. “You’re all boring and righteous and stuff.”

“You can never just let a man work on his vehicles of destruction in peace,” Taotie groans.

“I never liked that fox anyway,” Hundun concludes.

“I guess we could get real jobs,” Gahri says. “Working at your dad’s noodle shop was pretty fun, Po.” Po scowls at the memory, but doesn’t argue.

“I always thought I could be a mechanic if I weren’t a scheming evil genius,” Taotie says proudly.

“I used to be a bartender,” Tong Fo says, nearly inaudibly.

“Maybe I could get my old job back,” Hundun muses. “Then I would be the cruel guard who beats up prisoners cruelly, as a guard.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Po says firmly.

Hundun glowers, but concedes. “Fine.”

“But…” Po looks at all of them, lost for words. “I’m… I’m really…” Unexpectedly, a wave of nausea hits him. He presses his paws together, grounding himself with the pain.

He can’t stop thinking about the odd angles they were at, the grind of bones against each other under his skin, unnatural and wrong. The price for being gullible. The price for believing in people. The price for hope.

“I’m… really glad,” he forces out.

“You don’t look very glad,” Taotie points out.

Fung scratches his neck. “Yeah, guy, you look kinda mad.”

Tong Fo jumps down from his perch on the side of the blimp. “Relax, panda. They’re morons, but they mean it.”

“Who’re you calling a moron?” Taotie objects, but Tong Fo brushes him off.

“I-I know. I know,” Po says. “I be… I bel… I _can’t_! I can’t, I can’t do this again, I…”

Po stops talking. He feels like he’s suffocating, and his wrists hurt so, so much. His breathing is so panicked he worries he may faint again.

They politely pretend to be fascinated by the scenery while he pulls himself back together. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I—sorry.”

“We’ve seen worse,” Tong Fo says. But his posture is awkward, almost hesitant. It makes him seem more mortal. He takes a breath of his own. “Panda. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I can put the obliterating on hold,” Taotie says cheerfully.

Hope pulls at his broken ribs. Po shuts his eyes tightly and hangs on to it. “Okay. Okay. Then we’re headed to the Valley of Peace.”

When he sees the first glint of jade in the distance, Po nearly collapses with relief.

The homesickness he’s barely had any time to process crashes into him with a vengeance. He’s never been away from his friends for so long, his master, his dad, his home. Finally. Finally, he can walk without the clanking of chains around his feet. His ribs are slowly knitting themselves back together. His shoulder is recovering well enough that he’ll be able to take off the sling in another day or two. His wrists… well, they’re a work in progress.

Even in the blimp, it took them three days to navigate their way back to the valley. Po finds himself grateful that they headed for it instead of attempting to trek the entire road.

“Finally,” Bian Zao says, echoing his thoughts. He’s staring into the distance. Po follows his gaze and finds the small secluded area where he and Taotie live, a few miles from the Jade Palace. “I left all my scrolls at home.”

Guilt prickles at Po’s fur. Bian Zao is just a kid. Of course he would be bored. And scared, probably. This trip can’t have been easy for him either.

“I’ll get you some more,” Po promises. Conspiratorially, he whispers, “Shifu keeps some good ones in the palace.”

“You’d do that?”

“Sure!” Po says. “I mean, I can’t give you any of the Thousand Scrolls, but we have so many old kung fu stories. And romance stories! And, get this, kung fu romance stories.”

“Lame,” Bian Zao says, but he adds, “I need some new scrolls anyway.”

Po laughs. It only hurts a little.

They slow as they approach, congregate on the deck as one. “Well,” Taotie says. “I guess we’re almost there.”

“You can drop me off at the Jade Palace,” Po says. When Taotie doesn’t immediately respond, Po gives him a thin-lipped look. “Don’t tell me we spent three days playing nice only for you to reveal that you’re still planning on keeping me as a hostage.”

“No, it’s just…” Taotie gestures at Po’s injuries.

“The Furious Five will be furious with us when they discover what happened to you,” Hundun grunts.

“Then… I won’t tell them,” Po says dubiously.

“What happened to justice?” Tong Fo asks sarcastically. “We didn’t exactly finish serving our time in prison. Are you really going to let us go free?”

“What do you want me to say?” Po demands. “You’re trying! All of you. I know you’re trying. That has to mean something. Look, I-I can’t promise they won’t go after you, but… I want this to work. I want you guys to lead better lives from now on.”

“You’re good at giving pep talks, guy,” Fung says helpfully.

“Thank you, Fung.”

“All right.” Tong Fo smiles with teeth. This time, Po doesn’t flinch. “I believe you, panda. We’ll drop you off.”

Po lands with a stumble that sends a fritz of pain up his spine, but he straightens. They’re just out of sight of the Jade Palace’s front doors, and Po looks up at the figures on the blimp, hovering a dozen feet above the ground.

“I guess this is where we part ways,” he says. He feels oddly heavy, like he’s grieving, and he doesn’t know why. “Since you guys won’t be, you know, terrorizing the valley anymore, I won’t be seeing you much.”

“We still kinda live here,” Fung says.

“I may open up shop here one day,” Hundun mentions. “As a humble shoemaker, and not with plans to use underground tunnels to explode the Jade Palace.”

“Huh,” Po teases, “so you can drop the repetition when you’re not making evil monologues.”

“You still owe me scrolls,” Bian Zao calls out.

Po smiles up at him. “I’ll come visit.”

“You’d better!” Taotie says. “Being a single parent is hard, and Bian Zao only listens to you.”

“Dad, not cool!”

As the two bicker, Po’s gaze turns to Tong Fo. He seems contemplative, but not calculating.

“I won’t be returning,” he says at last. “It’s time I left the valley and saw more of the world.”

“Good luck,” Po says sincerely. “To all of you.”

“What a big sap,” Taotie says. “We’d better get going before someone sees us.”

“Yeah.” Po’s still smiling. “Bye, guys.”

“Bye, guy!” Fung responds in kind.

Shyly, at his side, Gahri agrees, “Bye, Po.”

“Goodbye,” Hundun says, “and farewell.”

“It’s only until you come by to get Bian Zao to stop reading those scrolls all the time,” Taotie says. Po winks at Bian Zao, both knowing full well he’ll be doing nothing of the sort.

Finally, he looks back at Tong Fo for the last time. He breathes. He feels fear, lingering and slow to leave. But he also feels a tentative faith.

Tong Fo hurt him. That can’t be undone. And it’s not Po’s job to change him, to save him—but he can be redeemed, and maybe, just maybe, Po’s set him on that path.

He’s relieved that he’ll never have to see the primate’s face again. But he also wholeheartedly wishes him well.

When he speaks, his voice is strong.

“Goodbye, Tong Fo.”

Tong Fo meets his gaze. The profoundness of the moment is reflected in his eyes.

“Goodbye, panda.”

The blimp lifts off and glides away.


	2. [EPILOGUE]

The doors are thicker than Po remembers, or maybe he’s just weaker than he remembers. He nudges them open with his unwounded shoulder, trying not to jostle his ribs too much.

Master Shifu is meditating by the pool, but he jerks to his feet when he hears the door. “Tigress, is that you? Do you have news about— _Po_?”

He’s beside Po in an instant, paws hovering over the bandages. “Po, what in the Emperor’s name happened to you—”

“Master Shifu,” Po says. He suddenly feels tears threatening at the corners of his eyes. “I-I’m back. I’m really back.”

“Yes,” Shifu says, eyebrows furrowed, composing himself. “You’re in the Jade Palace. You’re safe. Perhaps you should sit down—Po? Po, are you listening to me?”

Po sags forward. Shifu is gentle as he eases Po into a sitting position, mindful of his injuries.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use my name this much,” Po says, trying to joke.

“It’s been a week since you went missing,” Shifu says in lieu of a response. But he supposes that it answers his unasked question well enough. “We were informed that there had been a prison break, and that you were gone. We thought you had been taken, or… or worse.”

“I’m sorry,” Po says.

“There’s no need to apologize.”

“The… the others?”

“They’re out looking for you right now,” Shifu says gravely. “I will inform them. But first, you need medical attention. How badly injured are—”

He catches sight of Po’s wrists for the first time. His eyes widen, then darken with a rage more intense than Po’s ever seen from him.

“Shifu—” Po starts.

“Who did this?”

Shifu’s ears are flattened against his head. His voice is a low hiss that promises retribution.

“Shifu, I…”

“The others—they could have been accidents, mistakes. But this… this was intentional. Whoever did this meant to cripple you. _Who was it?”_

His paws grip Po’s tightly. Po gasps, stuttering, “M-Master, please—let go—”

Shifu releases him like he’s been burned. He turns to leave. “I apologize, Po. This is not the time. I will summon a medic immediately.”

“Wait,” Po whispers. He feels like a child, but he pleads, “Stay?”

Shifu gentles, just like he had back in the prison. He seems to find something in Po’s eyes, something hurt and afraid, something worthy of being protected. He kneels next to Po, paws settling lightly against him, keeping him steady and secure, and Po tries not to tremble too obviously. He had almost forgotten over the past week what safety felt like.

“You’re going to be all right, Po,” Shifu says softly.

Po thinks of blimps and broken bones and goodbyes. “Yeah,” he says. He shuts his eyes, lets Master Shifu’s touch ground him. “I’m okay. I’m going to be okay.”


End file.
